


The Fever Called Living

by eponine119



Category: Lost
Genre: DHARMA Initiative, F/M, Sickfic, the 70s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23266549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponine119/pseuds/eponine119
Summary: Sawyer is very, very sick and Juliet has to find a way to save him. Set during the Dharmaville days. Inspired by season 2.
Relationships: Juliet Burke/James "Sawyer" Ford
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	The Fever Called Living

The Fever Called Living  
by eponine119  
March 14-15, 2020

He has a distinctive walk, and she notices immediately that it's different. 

Juliet's been watching out the window for a while, waiting for him to come home. She hates these overnight “security exercises” that he goes on sometimes. She'd never admit to him that she lies awake those nights, missing his heat and his warmth and all his sleepy sighs, worrying about him. She knows he'd hate the idea of being worried about – the idea that he was worth losing sleep over. 

She lets him come in the door, holding back the desire to run out onto the porch or open the door for him. But she doesn't move from the window, doesn't hide that she was waiting for him. Her eyes roam over him, taking in that he is all right. 

“Well, well, well,” he says, flashing her that dimpled grin. “What have we here? Hi, honey, I'm home.” He puts his arms around her and pulls her into a long, deep kiss. 

“Welcome back,” she says, when the kiss ends. He's looking at her with hot, unfocused eyes and their lips touch again softly. Then she turns her head and rests it against his chest. He holds her tighter and she wonders what the hell they do out there. 

“I hate to break this up,” he says into her hair, “But I need a shower.” 

“Yes, you do.” She smiles into his chest, and he laughs a little and smacks her on the ass. A moment later she hears the shower running. She wanders around the living room a minute, feeling happy just to have his presence in the house again. 

But she's still thinking about his walk, so she goes into the bedroom and perches on the bed to wait for him to come out of the shower. She needs to see him. See that he's all right. 

He's surprised when he comes out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel. It makes him pause for a second and she searches his body with her eyes. All muscles and tan lines and nothing amiss. She gets to check out his backside as he goes to the dresser to pull out clean shorts and a t-shirt, and she's smiling a little when he faces her again. 

“I been up all night, Juliet,” he says, thinking she's here watching him because she wants to jump his bones. 

Which she does, there's just more to it than that. “What do you do out there?” 

“You never asked me before, why you askin' me that now?” 

“Did something happen?” she asks calmly. 

He sits down on the bed next to her, so that he's facing her. He lifts one long lock of blond hair and moves it back out of her face. “What's this about?” he asks. He can make his voice so gentle. 

“Nevermind, James,” she says. 

“Don't do that,” he says. 

“Do what?” she asks, still projecting her careful aura of calm. Pretending as hard as she can. 

“Don't do that either,” he growls in frustration. She looks at him. “Don't fake it with me, Juliet.” 

He remembers their time on Hydra Island, and so does she. So she bites back her smart remark, and he strokes her hair again, so gently it makes her shiver. Then he slides away to put on his jeans and she lets the matter drop. 

…

Days later, they're shopping in what passes for the Dharma grocery store. He carries the basket, and she has the list. Every time she turns around he's put something else into the basket that wasn't on the list. When she catches him, he grins. They play this game every time. 

“Put the Pop-tarts back,” she says. 

“They're imitation strawberry flavor frosted toaster pastries,” he corrects her, reading off the genericized packaging. 

“Oh, well then, that's all right.” She rolls her eyes at him. 

He heads for the cashier without putting them back. She follows him after a moment, frowning a little. “Fine, I'll put 'em back,” he agrees. 

“It's not that,” she says, and he tosses them back into the basket. “You're limping.” 

“No I ain't.” 

“You've been limping since you got home the other day.” 

“Musta stubbed my toe, then,” he says, and picks up the paper sack of groceries. 

She thinks about saying more, but decides not to. She wonders why he's lying. 

…

The next morning, sitting down to put his boots on, he puts on the right one and then hesitates. He lets out a breath as he slides his foot into the left boot. 

“Is it the man thing?” she asks. 

“What?” He raises his head to look at her. 

“You figure if you ignore it long enough, it'll go away? You're obviously hurt.” 

“I'm fine.” He shakes back his hair, irritated. She's glad he's never realized that's one of his tells. 

“Can I at least look at it?” she asks, moving closer. Ready to drop to her knees and ease the boot off and see how bad it really is. If it's gotten to the point where he can't cover it up anymore, knowing how much he wants to, it's not just a stubbed toe. 

He stands up and glowers at her. “No.” 

“I am a doctor, James.” 

“Not anymore,” he points out. He heads for the door. 

“You think working in the motor pool rotted my brain?” 

“I think I remember you refusing to do anything remotely medically related when we got here.” 

“I don't exactly have a diploma here in 1975,” she points out. 

“They weren't gonna check.” 

“You're mad about this?” she asks, puzzled at where all of this is coming from. Then she realizes his diversion is working. “At least go to the infirmary.” 

“I'll be home for dinner tonight,” he promises, giving her a smack of a kiss on the forehead, and then he disappears out the door. Limping. 

…

When the van pulls in around one, she assumes he's come home for lunch. It's not that common, but it's not unusual either. 

James gets out on the passenger side. He doesn't usually let Miles drive. James's hand lingers on the door frame for a moment. Then he takes two steps forward, kind of spins around a little, and keels over onto the ground. 

Juliet runs, her heart in her throat. She's reaching for him before she gets there. One hand on his chest tells her he's still breathing, and her other hand on his throat feels his pulse. “What happened out there?” she yells at Miles. She runs her hand along James's forehead, brushing back his damp hair. He's burning up. 

“He said he wanted to come back and tossed me the keys,” Miles says. 

That's not what she meant and she's pretty sure he knows it. “Get. Help!” she orders. Her thumb pushes up James's eyelid so she can look at his eye. She knows this is because of his damn foot, whatever happened to it. 

James groans and his eyes open. “Talk to me,” Juliet says, touching his face. 

“Love you,” he says, and then he's gone again. 

Her stomach rolls. He's in shock, but she can't help thinking he's dying. 

Someone's hands are on her shoulders, pulling her away, saying her name. It's the infirmary staff. They have a stretcher and they're putting James on it. They start to take him away. 

“I'm going with you,” she says, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She's not even sure when she started crying. She has to see his foot, she has to save him. 

“Let us do our job,” says the doctor, that asshole kid who never practiced before coming to the island and who spends half his time getting high at the Orchid. Miles puts his hand on Juliet's shoulder, holding her there, while they take James away. 

After one long moment where she lets in all the fear and all the despair, she turns on Miles. “What happened out there?” she yells. “I need you to tell me and I need you to tell me right now.” 

He puts up his hands. He looks like he's afraid of her. “Not here, okay?” 

She realizes she is standing in the garage, her workplace, and everyone is staring at her. Passersby are staring at her. “Take the afternoon off, Jules. Obviously,” her boss says. 

“Come on,” Miles says to her. For a second he half-reaches for her hand, to lead her away, but then he seems to think the better of it. 

They walk in silence to her house. Her and James's house. The moment the door closes, she demands, “What happened to him? When you were off playing wargames?” 

“Nothing!” Miles says. 

Her hand curls into a fist, and she is definitely going to punch him out. 

“He said it was blisters.” 

“That's more than he told me.” She wraps her arm around herself and drops into a chair. Miles sits in the chair that's at an angle next to hers. “He said everything was fine.” 

“I'm sure he didn't want you to worry.” Miles looks worried too. 

She's back up out of the chair, pulling off the kerchief she wears to keep the oil out of her hair. She needs to get out of her jumpsuit. She needs to scrub her hands, and then get to the infirmary. 

“Hey. No. You can't.” Miles tries to block her way. She shoves him, hard, and he grabs her hands, pushing her backward until she's sitting in the chair again. He's stronger than he looks. “You'll blow your cover. Our cover.” 

“I have to.” 

“Don't make me arrest you.” 

“You son of a bitch,” she says, and tries to pull her wrists out of his hands. She writhes and resorts to kicking him. “Let me go!”

“Shut up.” 

“Let me go!” 

“He dropped a knife on his foot, okay? He didn't want you to know. He figured a couple days and it would be fine.” 

“He dropped a knife on his foot? Seriously?” And that's why he didn't want to tell her? She's seen him fumble things before. Hell, he dropped his gun once. It feels like he doesn't trust her. 

Miles makes a face and nods to confirm. 

She realizes he's released her, so she stands up. He lets her. “I'm going to change my clothes and wash my hands,” she says calmly. “And then I am going to go to the infirmary and do whatever it takes --”

“They can handle it. Let them handle it.” 

She gives Miles her death stare. “I'm going.” 

“If you blow our cover, he'll kick you out.” 

“He'd have to survive to be able to do that,” Juliet says. “And I'm not sure he's going to.” She watches Miles absorb the full impact of her words. Then she goes into the bathroom to scrub. 

…

“Authorized personnel only,” the nurse in the infirmary informs her. 

“I don't care, Karen,” Juliet says, and pushes past her. Karen yells behind her, but Juliet just keeps walking until she's in the medical suite. The doctor glances at her but continues working. Juliet observes for a moment. They've got an IV in James's arm. His shirt is open. His eyes are closed. 

She sees he's still got both boots on. They haven't even figured out that much yet. She reaches for his left foot, unlacing. It takes effort to pull the shoe off. It falls from her fingers to the floor. His sock is soaked black with blood. 

The doctor's attention, drawn by the thud of the boot on tile, turns to the problem. Juliet has stripped off his sock and is looking at the wound. There's a completely ineffective Snoopy band-aid stuck over it. The knife missed any major structures, but it's a wide, deep cut. She bends to look at his sole to see if it went straight through, but there's no exit wound. The tissue is jagged and inflamed. He needs stitches, antibiotics, and a tetanus shot. He needed them days ago. 

He also needs a brain transplant if he didn't realize this was serious. 

What she doesn't understand is why. Why wouldn't he tell her? Why wouldn't he let her help him? 

But there's no time for that now. 

“How's his blood pressure?” she asks. 

“Low.” 

“How high is the fever?” she asks. 

“High,” says the doctor, who is inspecting the injury. 

She reaches for the thermometer on the instrument tray to get the information herself. But then the doctor flexes James's foot. And he whimpers. 

He doesn't grunt, or growl, or scream. 

Whimpers. 

She is undone by that sound. Her fingers won't work and she takes a step back, feeling like she can't breathe. 

“You shouldn't be in here,” says the doctor. She remembers that his name is Dick. Sees it now embroidered on his pocket. 

“I'm staying.” She pulls herself together. “He needs the strongest antibiotic you've got. Something for the fever. And something for the pain.” So he never makes that sound again. 

“He needs an amputation.” 

Her hand is on his chest, driving him into the wall, before she even realizes it. His head knocks back with an audible sound. “NO,” she says. 

“I'm calling security,” says Doctor Dick. 

“You aren't touching him.” 

“You're hysterical.” 

“I am not,” she says. “You aren't touching him. I'm his...” She can't say 'next of kin,' not now. “...decision maker, and I do not consent to any of this.” 

The doctor is looking at her like she is crazy. “You're not married. And you work in the motor pool.” 

“You're not touching him,” she reiterates. She goes to the cabinet and begins digging through it for what she's going to need. She hears Doctor Dick on the phone, presumably making good on his threat to call security, but she ignores him. She's trying to form a plan in her mind. Medicine first, then treat the wound. 

She injects the painkiller first, then something to bring down the fever. She's almost got the IV antibiotics going when the infirmary doors slam open. It's the entire cavalry – Phil, that other guy, Jin and Miles. Jin and Miles at least have the grace to look guilty. Horace Goodspeed is there too, for good measure. 

“I want him gone.” She gestures vaguely to the doctor. 

“I want her locked up. She assaulted me!” 

Phil and Whatshisname are ready to jolt into action, but Horace raises a hand to stop them. He's watching her work. “You been holding out on us, Julie?” he asks. 

She shrugs. “I was a Girl Scout.” 

“We should talk.” 

“I'm not leaving him alone with that – that – resident,” she says. “He wants to cut off his foot!” 

“What?” says Miles, and Jin is so shocked he says it in Korean. 

“I was joking,” cries the doctor. 

Juliet glares and moves down to the wound. It hurts her to look at it. Layers of internal tissue are exposed, and red, and yes, a little black around the edges. It needs someone who knows what they're doing. “He needs to go to the mainland.” 

“Sub won't be back for months,” Horace says gently. 

She takes instruments off the tray, ready to get started. 

“We'll give the antibiotics time to work. Clean things up. Then see where we are.” Horace is standing beside her now, hands in the pockets of his jumpsuit. Coaxing her. 

“No. You're not doing that to him. Not ever.” 

“Probably too late anyway,” says Doctor Dick. 

Juliet turns on him, but Phil is standing there with handcuffs ready. If they lock her up, then they can do anything they want to James. If Dick is knocked out by her, or dead, and she's locked up, no one will be helping James. So she submits. “You don't need those,” she says quietly. 

Phil looks at Horace, who nods. 

“Miles,” Juliet says, meeting his eyes as she's being led away. He nods. He won't let anything happen. 

They go to Horace's house and sit down in the living room. “Would you like some tea?” he asks. She doesn't dignify it with a response, but he pours her a cup anyway. He sips his while sitting on the couch, studying her. 

She doesn't know this man well. James does – Horace is his boss, the boss of everyone there, really. But he and James talk. Have meetings. Go on overnight security exercises. She looks at him. “You knew. You were there. What happened?” 

“He didn't tell you?” 

“Aren't these things supposed to be a secret?” 

“There's secrets, and then there are secrets you don't tell anyone except your lover,” Horace says. “I'm surprised. He loves you, Juliet.” 

She can't think about that right now. The lack of words between them. If he's saying it to Horace but not to her, she doesn't want to know about it. 

“What happened out there?” 

“You really don't know?” 

“Miles told me he dropped a knife on his foot.” She's not sure she believes this, having seen the wound. 

“It was more of a small axe, really.” Horace looks embarrassed. “But very sharp. He said it was just a flesh wound. Like a paper cut.” 

She doesn't ask how you manage to drop a small, very sharp axe on your foot. Your bare foot, apparently, since his boots are no worse for the wear. She waits him out, knowing that most people will talk to fill the silence. 

“We break the truce and spy on the Hostiles,” Horace admits. 

“Of course you do,” she says. “Are we done here?” 

“That depends,” he tells her, and she raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to stop interfering with and assaulting our doctor?” 

“He can't --” She can't even say the word. “He can't do that to him.” Now Horace waits her out. “He doesn't even know what he's doing.” 

“And you do.” It's more of a challenge than a question. 

She refuses to answer it. 

“Take your Girl Scout badge in advanced medicine, and go sit with Jim.” 

“I dropped out. Of medical school,” she lies. Desperately. Surprising herself.

“I see.” It changes nothing. “I don't want to have to arrest you, Juliet. You need to be with him right now. So don't make me have to.” 

She holds his gaze. 

“Go on,” he says, and she goes. She runs. 

Things are quiet and calm in the infirmary. Doctor Dick is nowhere to be seen. Miles is sitting in a chair next to James's bed, and he looks incredibly uncomfortable being there. He stands when he sees Juliet. 

“He's okay,” Miles says. “They put him under to clean up the wound.” 

She picks up the sheet at the end of the bed. James's foot is now wrapped in gauze. Holding his wrist, she takes his pulse. His skin is hot and dry. 

“If anything like this ever happens again, you need to tell me,” Juliet informs Miles. 

“Since now we know we can't trust Jim?” Miles asks, conspiratorially. Agreeing. 

“Where's Doctor Dick?” 

“On a break. He didn't want to be here when you got back.” 

She understands what he's not saying. “He went to talk to Horace.” 

“Uh-huh,” Miles confirms. 

“I have permission to be here.” 

“Yep.” 

“You don't have to stay,” she says. “Thank you.” 

Miles nods, and takes a long look at Jim, and departs. 

Busying herself, she takes James's temperature and blood pressure, then consults his chart notes. His fever is down by half a degree. There's nothing else she can do. The chair screams against the floor as she drags it to the head of his bed and then sits down. “You're an idiot,” she says, but it doesn't make her feel any better. 

She puts her hand on his forehead to feel how hot it is. Then she brushes his hair back, stroking it with her fingers. Studying his profile. She always thinks that he looks like a romantic hero when he's like this, hair brushed back and no scowl lines on his face. He should be on the cover of a cheap novel. She's watched him sleep before, stroked his hair until he fell asleep when he's had a nightmare, but this is different. 

It's hard for her to believe he was running around with this degree of infection. Business as usual until he dropped. Just a limping a little bit. 

She doesn't understand why he didn't say anything. She will probably never understand. Not until he wakes up and tells her. But he won't tell her. Maybe he doesn't even know himself. 

For the thirtieth time, she wonders what's she's doing here with him. All she wanted was to get off the island – until he asked her to stay. 

Staying is probably her best chance to get back to her own time. 

Also, she loves him. 

She keeps stroking his hair so he'll know she's there. 

…

It's Nurse Karen that comes in, a couple of hours later. Juliet thinks it's appallingly bad patient management, but she's happier here without company. She can handle it. 

She watches the nurse do all the things she's been doing herself. Checking pulse and temperature, looking at the bandages and the red line of infection. 

“Has he woken up at all?” 

“I think he's just sleeping now,” Juliet says. 

“You can stay with him tonight,” Karen says, as though she needed some sort of official permission. “Call me if anything happens.” 

“Where's Doctor Di – um, the doctor?” 

Karen just looks at her. Juliet has to try hard not to smile. Doctor Dick is afraid of her. 

“I'll be back at eight a.m. if you don't call,” Karen says, and then she's gone. 

“Just you and me now, babe,” Juliet says to James. She kisses his forehead. He's still burning up. As she draws back, he begins shivering. She watches his body shudder, and it hurts her. She adds it to the ball of feelings in her chest that she's not acknowledging. Her hands stroke his sun-browned shoulders, his arms, his chest, trying to warm him. He just shivers harder. 

She runs to the supply storage to get another blanket. Wishing for a warming cabinet, she unfolds it as she hurries back, holding it to her body for a moment before spreading it over him, leaving his feet sticking out. Her fingers shove the blanket edges in in tight around his legs and his waist, then pull it up to his chin. Tucking him in tenderly. 

He smacks his lips, muttering. “Need you,” she thinks she hears. 

Maybe comfort is what he needs. She knows he's been a solitary man for most of his life. Maybe knowing that she's here, that he has her, will help. All the unknowable parts of healing. 

She climbs into the narrow hospital bed next to him. Turning on her side, she curls up, pressing her body into his. She feels his chills against her. “I'm here,” she whispers into his ear. She brushes his long bangs back again and caresses his face. Realizing she needed to be close to him, too. 

He's not shivering as much now. She continues to hold him close, like she's never going to let him go. 

“How did you get this sick on a magic island?” she asks him. She's not sure if he knows about the island's healing properties. Certain ones among the plane crash survivors must have figured it out, she knows from reading their files. But was it ever spoken of? It wasn't even spoken of among the Others, not really. She knew about it because of her work, and even then it wasn't quantifiable or well understood. 

It didn't always work, and they didn't know why. She thinks about Jack's appendicitis. Putting her hands into his body on the beach, so worried about infection. It didn't make sense that it happened in the first place, but his recovery was remarkable. Fast. 

Here, they have real medicine. Refrigeration. Soap and clean water. There are strong antibiotics running full bore into James's veins. Every time she closes her eyes she sees that horrible wound, but he's going to be fine. 

“Jim?”

She hears the voice before the footsteps and raises her head. A very concerned looking Miles stands there, holding his backpack. His face changes when he sees her. 

“I thought they left him by himself,” Miles says. 

Juliet nods. Wonders if they would have, if she wasn't here. She rises and climbs out of the bed, retucking James's blankets where she's mussed them. Her hair falls over her shoulder, a brief shield between her and Miles. She leaves her shoes where they are and pads barefoot over to the chairs. “Sit down,” she says. 

“How's he doing?” Miles shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Okay,” she says mildly. “He's doing okay. Sit down.” 

Finally, he does. On the edge of the chair. Fingers moving over the straps of his pack. “I thought you might need...” he stops. Shakes his head. Looks at her. He's worried. 

“I appreciate the company, Miles,” she says. 

“You're not yelling at me.” 

“No. There'll be time for that later.” She sighs and looks at his backpack. “What's in there?” 

Miles unzips the bag and pulls out a bottle. “The best company.” He hands it to her. 

It's rum, Dharma-branded. “My favorite.” 

“There's probably some glasses around here somewhere --” 

“Never drink out of anything in a hospital,” Juliet says. “It's probably been used for specimens.” 

It takes a moment before he catches her meaning. “Oh.” 

“Bottoms up,” she says and takes a long swig, closing her eyes as she feels it burning inside her like James's fever. Then she passes it to Miles. Thinking about rum on the beach and James sitting next to her, watching the freighter burn. That was what, six months ago maybe? A lifetime. 

Miles drinks and passes it back to her. She takes another swig, already feeling light-headed. She hands it back and when he offers it again, she shakes her head. Miles puts the bottle on the floor. 

“He's an idiot,” Miles says. 

“Mmm-hmm,” she agrees. There's a lot of questions she could ask him right now, but she just rubs her eyes. 

“I'm not good at this,” Miles admits. 

“You don't have to talk.” She reaches out and takes his hand. He lets her. They sit there for a long time, in comfortable silence, watching James sleep. Wishing he would open his eyes. 

When the hour hand sweeps, she slips her hand from Miles's and stands up. The room tilts a little, but she's okay. The fever still hasn't broken. She listens to James's heart, then takes his blood pressure. It's dropped. She doesn't like it. 

She walks down to the other end of the bed, and feels his toes. Checks the red line of infection against the ink marks made when they first brought him in. Her hearts sinks. He's not getting better. She can feel it like a weight in her chest. He's not going to get better.

She squeezes his bandaged foot, pressing as hard as she can, wanting to hear him scream. Even though she knows he's doped up on painkillers. And he doesn't. He doesn't scream at all. 

Up near the head of the bed, she takes his face in her hands. He has roused a little, frowning now, restless as he lies there. He's muttering again she leans in close to try to hear what he's saying. 

“ – machine took my dollar, I only got one left.” 

He's delirious. 

He's dying. 

Somehow, she knows what she has to do. Holding the bedrail, she slips her feet back into her shoes. Then she presses her lips against James's. “Wait for me,” she whispers into his ear. 

Raising her head, she sees Miles looking at the floor. “What's today's code for the fence?” 

“423. Why?” 

“Stay with him.” 

“I don't know what to do,” he protests. 

“You don't have to. Just stay with him. I'll be back soon with something that will help.” She squeezes Miles's shoulder, picks up the bottle, and then she's running. Out of the infirmary, across the yard. Her lungs are burning when she reaches the fence and deactivates it long enough to slip through. It's so tempting to catch her breath, but there's no time. She runs, bottle bumping against her leg. 

The creek is outside of their territory. If she gets caught out here, there will be big trouble. They'd probably kill her, and then James will die too, and maybe a lot of people in the Dharma Initiative. She hopes that what she knows of the future means that didn't happen now. 

At the creek, she takes another swig of the rum and then dumps the rest out. She holds the bottle in the cold water, letting it run over it and fill it until it overflows. Then she sets it down solidly beside her, just long enough to wind her hair into a knot. Counting the seconds with every heartbeat. Then she puts her thumb over the mouth of the bottle and runs. 

Miles jumps up when he hears her coming. “What the hell, Juliet? Where did you go?” 

“Is he okay?” she pants. 

“No change.” 

She goes to James. He's tan but looks gray somehow, underneath.

She pulls the gauze off his foot with her fingernails, not bothering to unwind it. It drops to the floor. The wound smells. She pours some of the creek water over it, hoping she's right, that she isn't introducing additional bacteria. 

Then she returns to the head of the bed. “You have to drink this,” she murmurs to him, dribbling some of the water very carefully onto his lips. It rolls down the side of his face, where his dimples would be if his muscles weren't slack, if there was any life left in him at all. 

Her fingers scrabble at his shoulders, pulling him up. “Please, James, please, please,” she's whispering. His head tips back and his mouth falls open and she pours another sip into them. She can't tell if he swallows. He doesn't choke. “Little more,” she encourages, tipping in another sip. She thinks it goes down. It has to. 

She turns, to find an eyedropper or something, and Miles is still standing there. “What –?” he asks. 

“Find me something to get this into him,” she says. “Now!” She hears him tearing through the drawers. 

She brushes James's hair back again and tips a little more water into his mouth. This time he swallows. She can feel it. “Good,” she says.

“Here.” Miles shoves a handful of things at her. She lets them fall onto the blanket and rifles through them with one hand. Eyedropper, specimen cup, syringe. 

“Worth a try,” she says and uses the eyedropper. A drop dribbles out. She puts it into James's mouth. 

“Is he a baby bird now?” Miles says. 

“You can go,” she informs him. But then she stops, and looks up. Meets his gaze. “Thank you.” 

“Don't mention it,” he says, like he means it, and she hears the guilt in it. 

Her attention returns to James. She's not sure if he's too far gone for this. She fingers the eyedropper, wishing it was bigger so it would hold more liquid. 

She tries letting him drink again. This time he swallows eagerly. She helps him drink from the bottle in small sips until it's almost empty. When she pulls it away, he smacks his lips like he wants more. His eyes open and focus on her. “Mornin', sweetheart,” he says, and she thinks her heart is going to break with everything she feels for him. 

“Mornin' yourself,” she says, and brushes his hair back again. 

“Foot hurts like a son of a bitch. What happened?” 

“You cut it,” she says, and now she knows there will be time to yell at him for it later. “Oh, James,” she says, and it's enough. 

“You cryin' over me?” he asks, his voice still soft and rough. 

“Yes,” she admits, and cries harder. “I thought I was going to lose you.” 

“I ain't going nowhere,” he assures her. “I'm like Rasputin – hard to kill.” 

“I love you,” she says. She hasn't said to him before, though she's felt it for a while. They haven't said it to each other yet. This is the first time. 

“I love you, too.” His eyes are dark and deep when he says it, and she believes him. “Kinda want to pass out again.” His eyes close, and he does. 

That's when the commotion starts behind her. Nurse Karen and Doctor Dick, walking in together, stop their giggling and come up on her. “Was this patient awake?” Dick asks. 

“He was,” Juliet answers. 

“Temp's 100,” Nurse Karen reports. “Pulse is good, bp is good. What's all this?” Karen pulls the supplies out of the bed, raising an eyebrow at the rum bottle. Juliet glares. 

“I told you he'd be fine,” Dick says. 

Juliet doesn't even think before she punches him. 

…

“I can't believe you got suspended for fighting,” Sawyer says, at full grin, his eyes twinkling at her. He's lying on the couch with his bandaged foot propped up on as many pillows as he could find. “Lucky I got a thing for bad girls.” 

“That's me,” she says dryly. She brushes the hair back from his forehead, pretending she's not feeling his temperature. 

“I remember you doin' that.” 

“Must have dreamed it,” she says. 

“You saved me,” he says, the grin gone now. Perfectly serious. 

“James, I can't --” Even though it's been a couple of days and he is obviously going to be fine, it's overwhelming for her to think about. 

“Not just that,” he says. “You saved _me_.” 

“Is this where you give me the speech about being unloveable before you met me?” she asks. 

“No.” He's got that look in his eyes again. “I didn't forget you said it.” 

“You were delirious.” 

“You love me,” he says. 

“You had that look.” Her voice breaks. “I've seen it before. The look they get before they let go. When they're seeing the other side.” 

“You love me,” he says again, and this time there's realization in it. Like maybe he still didn't quite believe it until right now. 

“Yeah. I do.” Her shoulders sag and her head drops. It feels like she's been keeping a secret for so long. “And it's okay. I know you don't --” 

“I meant what I said.” Now he's giving her that intense look he gets sometimes. When things get really real. There's no way he can escape from what he has to say. “I love you, Juliet.” 

She wants to say something sarcastic, and she wants to cry, but mostly she wants to keep this moment forever. So she can pull it out and think about it when things get difficult. She stays silent. Accepting it. 

Then finally she wets her lips. Finds her strength and her voice. “I love you, James.” 

(end)


End file.
